


Stardust and Milkshakes

by zoemathemata



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas finds God. She answers some questions. Dean is unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stardust and Milkshakes

Castiel wanders the streets of Marrakech. It’s not the most remote place he had been, not nearly. It’s not the highest mountain, nor the lowest valley. Not the most frigid temperature, nor the warmest. Although, it is pleasant. The old city stands out against the modern hubbub. In all the older cities he visits, Castiel is equally fascinated by the historical architecture as he is the modern.

Except for buildings from the 1970s. Everything from that decade is ugly. It’s quite the anomaly.

He stills as he feels the pedant hum slightly against his skin. He had been holding it in his pocket, but fearful he would lose it, Dean had slung it around the angel’s neck. Dean seemed quite pleased whenever he saw the leather cord flashing around his skin, so Castiel had left it.

Now, standing on the sidewalk, he stands like stone. Not sure he felt something or if he has just been praying so hard that he has somehow willed it to occur.

But there it is again. A _pulse_. He takes a step forward and it pulses again, slightly stronger. Each step brings a pleasant jolt to his breastbone. He doesn’t know how long he walks down the streets. He learns quickly that when the pulses slow, it means he was supposed to turn. He has to try one direction at time and gauge the response from the amulet before he choses the way.

It’s night by the time he wanders into the Djemaa el Fna. It’s overwhelming at first. People are pressed in by the throng, all jostling each other casually, used to the crowds as they are. The food stalls are out in full, and the scents emanating from them are nearly overpowering to his sensitive nose. He’s still learning how to process the onslaught of human sensory input, especially olfactory and auditory which he cannot ever turn off.

He weaves in and out of the crush gracefully, headless of how he stands out in his suit and trench-coat. He’s focused on the amulet, trying to block out the rest. He draws closer to a cafe and hesitates as the pulse grows strong. He’s never felt fearful during his search before but it suddenly rushes through him in a wave. His hand hovers over the handle or a moment before he pulls the door open and steps inside.

The sounds from the market are immediately muffled, dampened, and he’s relieved by it. The smell in here is softer too. It smells like tea, pipe smoke, wine and some kind of cinnamon pastry. He looks around the low lit cafe, not sure what he’s supposed to be looking for, afraid he won’t know it when he sees it.

And then he sees her face, her eyes and the sudden rush of love is so overwhelming, he immediately wants to drop to his knees. He casts his eyes to his shoes, which he’s honestly never looked at before. They are black. They are matte and have small flecks of dirt on them. They have laces which he does not know how to tie. He sees his feet moving, taking steps toward the booth the woman is seated at, and he does not remember making the decision to pick them up. He sees the edge of the table crawl into his line of sight. Out of the tips of his eyelashes he can see her profile as she sits calmly. She is petite, dark skinned and dark eyed. Fragile features, even more fragile fingers, which are resting around a small tea cup.

“Won’t you sit down, Castiel?”

He slides into the seat across from her. He chances a glance up at her face. She is smiling.

“Are you God?”

“That is one of the names I am called.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know. I’ve been here.”

“Why here?”

She shrugs and it’s beautiful and languid. “Why not here? It’s beautiful here. I love watching people. Smelling the spices, hearing the wind.”

“I have many questions for you.” He looks at her intently, seriously. The look she gives him back is kind. Fond.

“Of course you do. Everyone does. Would you like your friends here? Sam and Dean?”

“You know them?” he asks without thinking. He realizes the stupidity of his comment immediately but she only smiles.

“I’ll bring them for you.”

Just like that, Dean is sitting next to him in the small booth and Sam is seated across from them, next to her.

“What the fuck!” Dean exclaims and jumps out of the chair. Sam is motionless in his confusion, barely turning his head around, letting his eyes do all the work. While Dean is still taking in their surroundings wildly, Sam finally turns his gaze onto the woman next to him.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Uh, hi?” Sam looks back at Castiel. Before Cas can open his mouth to explain, Dean jumps in.

“Again, what the fuck, Cas? You can’t just _do_ that to people. A little warning. Where the hell are we?”

“Marrakech,” she supplies easily. Dean gives her the hairy eyeball. Although, she is kinda pretty. In fact, the longer he stares at her and she at him, the more beautiful she becomes until he has to look away.

“Where the hell is Marrakech?”

“Dean, please,” says Castiel lowly. He’s afraid to make eye contact with God again in light of Dean’s profane tongue.

“What?” Dean huffs and sits back down. He looks back the woman again, this time jerking his head in greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself, “ she says back easily.

“Dean, Sam,” Castiel says lowly, reverently. “This is God.”

Cas won’t look at her, Dean and Sam can’t do anything but stare. She waves the fingertips of one hand girlishly as she sips at her tea.

“Bullshit.”

She chuckles at Dean’s outburst and the look on his face.

“You’re a woman.” Sam blurts out.

“I am today,” she concedes.

“I still call bullshit.”

“Dean, please.”

“It’s fine, Castiel. I wouldn’t have invented doubt and free will if I hadn’t expected the two of them to be used.” Her voice is soft, melodious. It makes Sam think of wind blowing across Nebraska corn fields. Or water rushing over rocky cliffs. Sam looks at Castiel. Castiel won’t even raise his eyes to her. He chances a glance sideways and she turns her head immediately and gives him a smile. He feels warm in his chest and the pleasant heat spreads out across his ribs, down his arms and to his fingertips. Like being in a sunny patch by a window on a winter day.

God. Sitting next to him. Drinking tea.

“Right. ‘Cause you’re God.” Dean snorts. “I thought you were a dude.”

She sighs. “Honestly, if I’d known gender was going to be such a clusterfuck, I never would have invented it.”

Sam’s eyes widen. God just _cussed_. And not just a little word, God used the _f-word_.

Dean is unimpressed. “All the books say you’re a guy. Big white beard. Robe. Long hair. Booming voice.”

She nods. “I was, am and ever shall be. I am both a man and a woman. And I am neither. I am the wind and the sun, a blade of grass and a horse. I am stardust and milkshakes. I am everything and nothing. Today, I am this.”

Well, that’s a mindfuck.

“What about that prayer, ‘Our Father’?” He’s a dog with a bone now.

“It’s unfortunate that Aramaic doesn’t translate well to English”

Dean looks at Castiel accusingly, as if it’s somehow the angel’s fault for not telling Dean this before.

“That is correct. In the original Aramaic, the first line may be interpreted ‘O birther of the cosmos,’ or perhaps, ‘O giver of the breath of life.’ No gender is implied or specified.”

Dean simply shifts his gaze back to God. “Well, then if you’re God, that’s your fault too.”

She nods. “Yes.”

He expected some kind of fight at that. But she stares at him solemnly instead. He continues, “In fact, this whole shit storm is your fault.”

Castiel looks like he wants to crawl under the ground and die. Sam’s not doing much better. God tilts her head in thought.

“I suppose. Yes.” She nods. “I am the planter of the seeds and the world is reaping what I have sown.”

“So unsow it.” Dean raps his finger on the table.

“I can’t.” She is not plaintive, or defensive. She states her words calmly.

“Why not? Why the fuck not?”

“Dean,” Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s forearm and squeezes tightly. Castiel still can’t look up at God, but he _is_ able to look at Dean and that look says _Shut the hell up_.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Make it that simple.”

“I won’t.”

“Apocalypse. Undo it.”

“No.”

Dean’s about half a second away from a full blown aneurysm when Sam speaks. “Um, why not? Your angels jump started it.”

“They did.”

In his frustration, a weird sort of ‘glick’ sound is all that escapes from Dean’s mouth.

“Father…” Castiel begins and then frowns. “Mother?”

She waves a hand. “I was, am and ever shall be your Father.” God reaches out and touches Castiel’s face softly with her fingers. Castiel freezes.

“Please look at me when you speak to me.”

Castiel’s blue eyes finally flutter up to meet hers. “There. See?” She smiles at him and Castiel looks… happy.

“Father, I don’t want to question you. And I don’t wish to have doubts. I want to believe in you, and have faith… I _do_ have faith, but I… I don’t understand.”

“I know. I didn’t make you to understand.” Her voice is low, gentle. She clasps her fingers over his hand.

“Fucking patronizing.”

“Dean!” Sam hisses.

“What? Apocalypse. Fucking Apocalypse and she, he…” he waves his hands around, “… it has the ability to stop it and won’t.”

God turned her gaze to Dean and he couldn’t help it, he flinched. “I know it’s enormous. I know that it’s almost unfathomable. To you it’s The Apocalypse, but to me it is simply ‘Another Apocalypse.’” She punctuates her words with a graceful shrug.

“Huh?”

“This is not the first time this has happened.” She looks distracted for a moment, far away. “It’s happening right now in the past, here in the present and again in the future.” She shakes her head slightly. “And I cannot stop it, I will not stop it.”

She takes another sip of tea. “I gave humans and angels free will. I can’t undo what they chose to do with that free will. I won’t. It makes the choice vacuous if I do. Why bother giving free will at all if whenever someone makes a decision I don’t agree with I undo it? How can my children learn anything if I take away all consequence?” In that moment, she looks and sounds like a tired parent, a tired _mother_ struggling with her kids.

“I thought the angels didn’t have free will?” questions Sam.

God eyeballs him. “Of course they have free will. They are not automatons. Without free will, how would Lucifer have fallen? How would the one you know as Anna make the decision to tear her grace out? How could Castiel chose to help you? In the beginning, I strongly limited that will, but it was there. It is growing stronger as it is exercised.”

“So you don’t make the angels obey you?” asks Sam.

“I did. For a long time I did. But forcing blind obedience is not… it is not what I wish. It was not, _is not_ good for them. Nor for me.”

Castiel frowns. “But the archangels say….revelations… if we disobey…”

“I have left the archangels to their own devices and in the tradition of older siblings everywhere, they have taken that to mean that they are in charge and their word is law. I do not endorse it nor condone it.”

“Then stop it,” Dean blurts. “If you know what they are doing is wrong, why don’t you stop it?”

“Right and wrong are constructs that I have given you, but they have no meaning outside this realm.”

“Huh?” He’s making some brilliant arguments here, Dean thinks. What with the jaw dropping and unintelligent syllables. “They let Lucifer out!”

“Lucifer was free to come out anytime he wished. He seemed to think he needed to be released, that my banishment was a prison, but he could come out when he was ready. As soon as he was willing to admit the error of his ways.”

“You sent the devil to his room until he _apologized_?”

She seemed to weigh that statement and nodded. “It is a crude analogy but yes, fairly accurate. And despite humanity’s literature, he is not the root of all evil. He’s so young. So spirited.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s a handful that one. Always pushing buttons.”

If Sam didn’t know they were talking about _Lucifer_ he would think she was just another mother at Wal-mart discussing her misbehaving toddler.

“What about the Bible?” Sam frowns.

“It can be… difficult to find the words, no matter what the language, to convey my meaning while remaining within the rudimentary structure I have given you for your brains. And of course, I may inspire someone to write my words down, but in the end, they have the free will to interpret that as they wish. Many of my texts were banned from the Bible ages ago and are still lost. I hope they may be found someday.” She pauses for a moment. “You’re basically getting half the story, and the half you’re getting has been filtered through patriarchal, timid minds and is ninety percent bullshit. Sucks, I know.”

Dean and Sam just stare at her with their mouths open. She gives them a sympathetic head tilt. “It’s a perfect example of why it’s so difficult for me to be involved and why I try not to do it.”

“Did you restore me to life?” Castiel blurts out.

“I did.”

“Uh, why?” asks Sam. “I mean, if you don’t get involved, that’s… involvement.”

She smiles wryly and looks off in the distance. “It is very… hard not to get involved. I try to remain distant. If I willingly answer the prayers of one, then I must answer the prayers of all. I love my children, angel and human equally. Despite their faults, or perhaps because of them. But sometimes, when I’m… distracted, in a moment of blind intent, I may interfere.” She looks back at Castiel. “The humans call such moments miracles.”

“Are you saying that miracles are your fuck ups?” Both Sam and Castiel cringe at Dean’s words.

“Oh, Dean,” she says lovingly. “I do love how you are able to distill concepts to their base in an instant. Yes, miracles are my greatest mistakes. I should not interfere, and yet I can’t help myself at times. Although they are incomprehensible and untranslatable to you, I do have my own feelings. In order not to overly burden my children, I gave the angels the smallest fraction of my feelings that I could. As it turns out, very little emotion is nearly as bad as too much. So, to humans I gave a fraction more. All that you have felt, all that you continue to feel, all that you will feel, is a small fragment; the smallest fragment I could divide of myself that I believed you would be able to handle.” She looks over to Castiel again, and to his surprise, she reaches out and places her cool fingertips over his hand. “Some of my angels are learning to feel more. And it is a beautiful thing. I have so much hope for you, my Castiel. You are learning how to feel. It is wondrous. Do not be afraid.”

“What if I fall?”

“What if you fall?” she repeats with a shrug. “I wouldn't have created humans if I did not love them. Immeasurably.”

“The archangels say…”

She squeezes his hand lightly. “I know. I have eternal hope they will come around. You have found your heart, and now you must follow it.” Her eyes wander over to Dean and for the first time, Dean is really, really uncomfortable. She looks at him… like she knows.

Fuckit, if she’s God, then she does.

“I thought, um, that, you guys upstairs…” he’s squirming in his chair slightly.

“As I said before, if I’d known gender was going to be such a clusterfuck, I never would have invented it. I gave you a portion of my love in the hopes that you would understand that it transcends everything.”

“Will I lose my grace?” Castiel asked and it was the first time Dean had seen him look … worried.

Her eyes are soft. “Your angelic grace, yes. It is fading. It is trading itself for human emotions.”

“Can you stop it?”

She shook her head. “I can but I won’t. If you make the decision to remove yourself from humanity, then your grace will start to restore itself.”

“At the cost of emotions.” Castiel is solemn, serious.

“Yes. Although the two are not mutually incompatible, they don’t intermingle well. One generally takes the place of the other. It’s as though your angelic grace is making way for your human grace.”

Dean snorts. The thought of human grace is too ridiculous. God doesn’t even look at Dean as she chastises him, her eyes remained locked with Castiel.

“Is it so ridiculous to think that humans have grace, Dean? When you see all that humanity has accomplished. Poetry, music, charity, love. The beauty of it, the wonder.”

“The disease, the war, the famine…” Dean’s tone is mocking. Rude. She does flick her eyes to him then and he feels immediately embarrassed by his tone. But not enough to apologize.

“All of my creatures have grace, Dean. Including you. Including all humans. You are all a part of me and I of you. But as I indicated before, free will is a stone-cold bitch.”

“Why us?” Sam asks suddenly. “Is it destiny, fate? Why did you choose us? Are we a paradigm of the battle between Lucifer and Michael?”

She places her other hand on Sam’s forearm and he can’t stop looking at it. _God_ is touching him.

“I didn’t choose you. I could never, would never choose between my children. I love you all equally. Differently, uniquely, but equally. Events have unfolded to thrust this life upon you because that is how they unfolded. It has ended up that you and Dean are in this life, in these events because that’s how it ended up.”

Sam wants to laugh. “Are you saying it is what it is just because that’s what it is?” He’s nervous and slightly twitchy under her gaze.

She pats his arm. “Pretty much.” God is giving him the _Whatcha gonna do_ shrug. “The archangels love to look for symmetry. Like reading your horoscope at the end of the day, you can ‘make it fit.’”

“What should I do now?” asks Castiel.

“I cannot tell you. I won’t.”

Castiel frowns, his lips pressing together in consternation. Eyebrows furrowed. “Are you pleased with what I have done? Am I doing your will?”

It’s God’s turn to pause this time. She folds her hands carefully on the table, as though she is considering his question. “My will is…” she stills and it is absolute. Living creatures cannot be that still. It is foreign and artificial looking. She blinks. “My wishes are irrelevant. I have surrendered to the creation of free will and I must maintain that surrender now.”

“I want to do what is right,” Castiel says slowly. “How will I know what that is?”

“You will know, as you have known, what is right.”

“That is such a bullshit answer.”

“Dean, please.”

“No, it’s bullshit.” Dean shakes off Cas’ hand and drums his pointer finger on the table. “You know what he’s asking. He’s asking for your approval, your permission and you can give it to him but you won’t.”

“I cannot interfere anymore than I have.”

“Still bullshit. You’re already in this up to your eyeballs. In for a penny…”

“Dean, I really don’t think…”

Dean ignores Sam as well. “She won’t do anything to me, she can’t. She needs us to clean up the shit storm her other kids stirred up. Am I right?” he raises an eyebrow, daring her.

“I do not wish to offer an opinion.”

Dean smiles. “You brought Cas back to life. That’s a pretty strong opinion.”

God smiles this time. “I suppose it is.” Her eyes flicker back to Castiel. “I trust you to do what is right.”

Castiel’s blue eyes seem heavy and worried with that trust. God reaches out and ruffles his hair. “So serious! You should enjoy what you have when you have it.”

“Is that a warning?”

God rolls her eyes. “No, Dean. It’s not a warning.” She sits up straighter. “Now, you must be going. You have things to do. I will answer one question for you each.” She takes a sip of her tea.

Sam opens his mouth and is confused when the words he is trying to speak don’t come out.

“I will choose the question for you. And I’m sorry, but I’ll be taking nearly all of your memories of this meeting.”

Another outraged ‘glick’ sound is all that Dean manages.

“It’s the search that matters,” she continues, waving a hand at Dean. However she does it, it shuts him up. “You learn so much about yourself, about humanity on the search. All we’ve talked about is really inconsequential. You’ll get to keep the answer to the question, however.”

God leans over and whispers in Sam’s ear. He’s the only one who hears her words.

 _There is nothing to forgive, but since you need to hear the words, I forgive you._

Sam disappears and Dean finds himself sitting next to hear in the blink of an eye. She leans in close, her lips brushing his ear.

 _Of course, I love you._

Dean disappears just as Sam did and Castiel finds himself seated next to her. His hands rest on the table and she puts her hands over his giving him a motherly look. She cups his cheek as she speaks in his ear.

 _I’m always proud of you._

Castiel blinks and he’s back in a hotel room with Sam and Dean. The three of them staring at each other, blinking. Confused.

“What just happened?”

Dean shakes his head at Sam’s question, green eyes wide. “Cas?”

Castiel looks at Dean, then at Sam, and then back down at himself. “I don’t know how I came to be here.” Castiel sniffs his coat. It smells like warm spice and tea. It’s soothing and familiar but he doesn’t know why.

“Did you take us somewhere?”

Castiel directs his eyes back up at Dean and holds them for a moment. Dean is nearly leaning forward waiting for Cas to explain. There is _something_ at the edges of Castiel’s mind but when he tries to reach out and grab it, it dances away like smoke on the wind.

“I don’t know.”

Sam feels like he should be worried. He should be scared. Something has happened to them and they don’t know what. But he doesn’t feel either worried or scared.

He feels really good actually. Lighter. _Cleaner_ if that even makes sense. He looks over at Castiel, who is frowning slightly.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

“I believe so,” says Cas slowly. “I am unable to qualify how I feel. But I think it is… good?” He can’t find the proper words to express himself. His chest feels warm, slightly tingly. It’s close to how he felt the first time Dean kissed him and he realized that Dean cared for him, that he was important to Dean. A smile tugs at his lips.

“Dean,” Cas intones and both he and Sam turn to stare at Dean.

Of the three of them, Dean seems most affected. He’s turned his back to Castiel and Sam and his shoulders are shaking.

“Dean?” Sam hesitantly lurches toward his brother and stops cold.

Dean is _crying_.

Sam reaches a hand out to Dean and his older brother flinches away from the touch.

“Don’t. Just don’t. I can’t…” he storms off to the bathroom and slams the door shut, leaving Sam and Cas staring at the solid wood and then at each other.

Dean’s hands tremble as he turns the cold water on and splashes it over his face. He’s not crying. Crying is stupid and doesn’t solve anything and besides, there’s nothing _wrong_ with him. He braces his hands on each edge of the sharply white sink. There’s nothing wrong with Sam and there’s nothing wrong with Cas. Everything is fine.

“Dean.”

“Jesus!” He knocks the shaving cream can off its precarious perch and it falls on the cheap tile floor with a clatter. He doesn’t look up at Cas. “In the bathroom and the door is fucking _closed_. That’s two of the things I told you mean _alone time_.”

“You are upset. Do you remember something?”

“I’m not upset.” His knuckles are turning white with the force of his grip, matching the sink. “And I don’t remember anything.” His chest is tight, and he felt like he can’t breathe. He rubs his hands over his eyes, shutting them tightly. “I’m not upset,” he repeats lowly. “I don’t know why…”

Cas comes to stand closer to Dean, into his personal space and the warmth he gives off makes Dean feel better. The familiar scent that equals Cas in Dean’s brain along with a slightly spicy smell of tea fills his nostrils and starts to calm him. Cas places one hand on the back of Dean’s neck and squeezes the tense muscles there, kneading the flesh. The other hand goes to Dean’s bicep, holding him firmly. Solidly. Dean tenses at first, then sighs and relaxes under Cas fingertips.

This is new for Dean, but Cas has been and is still patient with him. Dean is learning to accept what’s being offered without throwing it back or scoffing or protesting that he doesn’t need it. Standing hunched over the sink, head bowed, he tries to focus on the feeling of Cas’ strong fingers pressing in and massaging over the tense muscles and tendons in his neck. Dean breathes out a long stream of air.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

Across the world, sipping her tea, God smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note - Because I think it's pretty.....  
> Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic - Abwoon d’bvashmayo, nethqadash shmok. Te-the malkutokh. Nehwé tseby o-nokh, aykano d’bvash’mayo of -ba’r‘o. Habv lan lahma d’sunqonan yow-mano, Washboqlan hawbén w’kh-t’hén, aykano dof h’nan shba-qn l’hayobén. W’lo tahlan l’nesyun’eh, elo patson men bisho. Metol d’dilok hi malkutokh, w’haylo, w’teshbuh-to lo‘alam ‘o-l’min. Amén.


End file.
